


Unrelenting

by BossToaster (ChaoticReactions)



Series: Gotta Get Back to Hogwarts (Unafraid Verse) [5]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 10:56:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13363191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaoticReactions/pseuds/BossToaster
Summary: Hufflepuffs are loyal.  They're just.  They're hardworking.Not everyone sees it that way.  Hunk does, but it's not always easy.For Hunk's Birthday





	Unrelenting

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Unafraid](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9136501) by [buttered_onions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttered_onions/pseuds/buttered_onions). 



“Why aren’t you in Ravenclaw?”

The question makes Hunk pause.  He looks up from his textbook at Louise Maslow, who peers right back from behind her thick, dark framed glasses.  Her gaze is sharp, almost punishingly so, as if Hunk has tried to play a trick on her.

When she doesn’t speak, only continues to stare, Hunk gives a heaving shrug.  “Because the hat didn’t put me there?”  He’s not even sure why this is a question.  Both of them were sorted just two weeks ago.  Shouldn’t Louise remember this?

“But you’re smart,” Louise insists, still frowning.  It cuts a deep line between her brows, as if she can figure him out through sheer force of thought.  “So you should be in Ravenclaw.”

Hunk - eleven years old, shy, and away from home for the first time - goes red.  It’s a compliment, but it doesn’t feel good.  He frowns down at his Astronomy textbook, then offers her a thin smile.  “Thank you,” he tries, because that’s what he was supposed to say when someone says he’s smart.  “Hufflepuff is nice, though.  It’s quiet.”

“Ravenclaw is quiet too, usually,” Louise shoots back, her voice tightening.  As if Hufflepuff having good traits threatens Ravenclaw’s.

“Okay,” Hunk says, because he doesn’t understand why this is a problem.

Finally, Louise sighs and pushes up her glasses.  “I just don’t get it.  I guess you don’t too.”

Hunk doesn’t, though he suspects what they don’t understand are two different things.   “Only the Sorting Hat would know, really.”

Louise nods, more thoughtful this time.  “I wonder if you could talk to someone about it.  Ask to move.”

Why?  Hunk likes sleeping in the Hufflepuff dorms.  They aren’t up a ton of stairs to go up or down in the chilly, damp dungeon.  There’s no windows to fall out of or lake to leak and flood the rooms.  Instead, they’re close to the kitchen and the Great Hall, so he can take his time in the morning.  He likes his dormmates alright, though they’re starting to be friends and he… isn’t.

But it’s good.  

Except that from Louise’s earnest, intense expression, it’s not.

“Maybe,” Hunk replies.  She’s trying to be helpful, he can tell, but it still makes his stomach squirm.  It’s a compliment, to be called smart.  Hunk’s been called smart all his life, because he is.  Why does it feel bad now?  

Why does he feel like he should say sorry for how the hat sorted him?

Hunk doesn’t know, so he shrugs it off.  “But I think we should do this essay first.”

Eyes wide, Louise nods.  She takes her thick, dark braid and twirls the edge around her finger.  It’s a thoughtful gesture, a sign her mind is already on the work to be done.  Hunk has lots of little habits like that - fiddling with his headband, biting his fingernails, bouncing his knee.

Maybe people who do that belong in Ravenclaw?  Maybe something went wrong?

Hunk doesn’t know, but he puts it out of his mind for now.  There’s work to be done, and he wants to do a good job.

(It’s a very Hufflepuff state of mind.  But he thinks of Louise’s frown, the way she hadn’t liked him calling his house quiet, and keeps that to himself.)

***

Lance laughs and spreads his arms out wide.  “This is going to be so good!”  He crows as he turns around to walk backward.  His arms nearly smack a Slytherin fourth year, who gives them a dirty look and carefully avoids them.

Oops.

“Maybe you should walk the right way,” Hunk offers, eying the crowd up ahead.  The chances of Lance getting through that without hitting or walking into someone on accident are basically zero.  Really, they’re not first years anymore.  At twelve years old (and already taller than many of the fourth years), Hunk thinks they should be more mature and considerate than that.

But Lance scoffs, too caught up in his excitement.  “Who cares about that?  Gryffindor vs Hufflepuff for the Quidditch Cup!  Maybe for the House Cup, too!”

Hunk crinkles his nose.  “Aren’t you guys, like, 250 points behind right now?”  Gryffindor’s hour glass in the Great Hall is just out of view, now, but it’s hovered far below the rest for weeks now.  It has only barely over half as many as Hufflepuff.

Waving him off, as if Hunk is talking pure nonsense, Lance grins.  It’s the smile he thinks is rakish and debonair (he keeps stealing those spy novels that Keith borrows from Shiro), but really just makes him look cross-eyed.  “But that’s what Gryffindors are good at, Hunk!  We come out from behind.  We’re the underdogs, but we always come out on top.  Go, Lions!”  He throws both his arms in the air and whoops.  It earns them several glares from other students.

Somehow, calling the Gryffindors ‘underdogs’ makes Hunk’s stomach roll in irritation.  It shouldn’t, really, because Lance is just being his excitable self.  He doesn’t mean anything by it.

But Gryffindors are never underdogs, except at bookwork and grades.  Allura just started that dueling club this year, and she’s already the favorite to win at their tournament next month.  Gryffindors are brave, Gryffindors are fighters, Gryffindors are heroes.  History of Magic is absolutely full of them and their exploits, from winning battles to defeating dark wizards to grand adventures.

(There are very few Hufflepuffs they learn by name in that class.  Hunk digs and learns, because he’s always done that.  There are dozens of Hufflepuffs fighting in those battles, healing the combatants, researching the problem.  They just aren’t the people who gets names in history books.)

But Gryffindors are the underdogs today.  They’ve had a bad season, though Lance refuses to call it that.  So Hunk smiles and nods, though it’s a second later than it should be.  “Maybe.  But Hufflepuff has Shiro.”

“Yeah,” Lance replies, drawing the word out.  “I mean, Shiro’s good, don’t get me wrong. But he’s just one guy, and the Gryffindor team is great.  Besides, underdogs, like I said!”

They manage to get through the hall with only a few accidents and stepped on toes (for which Hunk apologizes profusely and Lance blushes but doesn’t stop).  The sun beats down hard on the grass, warming Hunk’s cheeks and the back of his neck.  For all he doesn’t really know Quidditch very well, he can tell this is less than ideal weather for the players.  Light gleams off the stands and the hoops, so Hunk has to blink spots from his eyes.

Lance frowns up at the sun, as if it were personally against him.  “Mmm,” he murmurs.  “Well, we’ve got this.  Want to come sit in the Gryffindor stands?  You can still celebrate with us when we win.”  He gives that grin again and nudges Hunk in the side, all friendly fire.

But Hunk shakes his head.  “I’d rather not.”  He wants to sit with the Hufflepuffs and support his team, not be lost in the sea of red.  “You can come sit with me.  Everyone will get it, they know Shiro tutors us.”

There’s a long pause as Lance considers that.  He glances over at the red colored stands, where a chant is already starting up.  (”Lions!” _“Roar!”_ ”Lions!” _“Roar!”_ “Lions!” _“Roar!”)_ The whole stands have a buzzing sort of energy, a fever with fangs, a breathless quality.

They expect to win.  Of course they will - they’re Gryffindors.

From the light in Lance’s eye, the eager vibration of him, he feels the same.

Hunk knows how far behind they are, he knows that Hufflepuff has a great team this year, he knows Gryffindor can’t catch up.

Even so, there’s a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Hunk kind of suspects the Gryffindors will win too.

“We don’t have to sit together,” he finally offers.  “We’ll just meet up after.  Okay?”

This time, some of the competitive fire drains from Lance’s eyes.  He looks over, lips turned down.  “We always sit together.”

Yes, but Hunk doesn’t want to sit with the Gryffindors, surrounded by that fierce, desperate pride.  He also doesn’t really want Lance in the Hufflepuff stands, doesn’t want that same feeling leeching away their own buzz.

Maybe Hunk is underestimating both sides.  But-

“Just this once,” he replied.  “We’ll sit together at dinner.”

Lance frowns, but he finally nods.  “Okay.”  He glances over at the Hufflepuff stands one more time, then sighs.  “You should have been sorted into Gryffindor,” he mourns.  “You and Shiro.  You’re both plenty brave.  You threw a desk at a boggart!”

Even the memory makes Hunk shiver.  That was one of the worst nights of his life.  Besides, he hadn’t fought back because he was brave or he wanted to beat the enemy - he’d just wanted to help Shiro.

That wasn’t Gryffindor brave, fighting into the dark with a shining sword and armor.  It was Hufflepuff brave, following their friends into the dark to back them up and drag them out after.

But Lance wasn’t being serious, so Hunk smiles ruefully back.  “Maybe you should have been sorted into Hufflepuff instead.  You’re loyal.”

“Yellow,” Lance mutters back, sticking out his tongue.  “No thanks.”

“I like yellow.”  Hunk’s voice gets smaller anyway, and he picks nervously at his nails.

Lance shrugs and flaps a hand at him.  “Sure, and it’s fine on you.  But Gryffindor.” He says it as if that explains everything.

Behind him, the chanting rises, growing louder and louder, fiercer and more wild, as more students pile into the stands.

“Go,” Hunk replies, waving him off.  “I’ll see you later.”

“You can come to our party when we win!” Lance calls, shooting him a thumbs up.  He turns and sets off at a jog, already adding his voice to the chant.

Hunk watches him go until Lance disappears into the sea of black and red robes.  Then he heads up the stairs to his own seat.  His heart pounds like a bird and he toys with the edge of his headband.

When the players finally come onto the field, already on their brooms, the Gryffindors look bigger.  Scarier.  Powerful.

Hunk swallows his dread.

***

When the Gryffindor seeker’s fingers wrap around the snitch, everyone goes wild.

The Hufflepuffs scream because it _wasn’t enough._  Their chasers destroyed Gryffindors’, running circles around their keeper and racking up goal after goal.  Hunk can see Shiro from here, how his dark bangs are totally plastered to his forehead and his shoulders heave like he’s panting hard.  Even with those 150 extra points, Hufflepuff still won by 60.  At that point, the seeker had ended it because the lead was only going to get more humiliating.

The Gryffindor stands rattle with their cheers, as if they’d won after all.  It had been a fierce flight to catch the snitch, with both seekers shoulder to shoulder for most of it.  Winning that minor battle is still winning, even if they lost the war.  No matter how hard Hunk strains, he can’t quite make out Lance in the masses, but he’s no doubt jumping around and yelling his head off with the rest of them.

The Ravenclaws clap and applaud, throwing their fists in the air in relief.  They’re currently in first for house points, and if Hufflepuff had caught the snitch, the extra points would have overtaken them.

The Slytherins laugh and whoop because their rivals didn’t win, and that’s the important thing.

Later, when Lance sits down next to him for dinner, he’s beaming.  “That was a great game!  Did you see that catch?  Yoo totally pulled it off!”

“He did,” Hunk agreed, nodding.  He sips his pumpkin juice and smiles as Lance starts to recount the entire final flight.  He’s glad it was a win for everyone.  He’s glad Lance isn’t moping and disappointed.

But he can’t help but feel like their victory was made smaller.

Someone thumps down tiredly in the chair next to Hunk.  Leaning in, Shiro arches a brow and offers a smile.  His hair is still wet, but this time from the shower, and there’s a bright flush still over his cheeks.  “You might want to keep it down, Lance.  O’Hare will be down in a few.”

The reminder that he’s sitting at the Hufflepuff table with the Hufflepuff team makes Lance freeze, then blush.  “Yeah.  Hey, right, good job, Shiro!”

“Thanks,” Shiro replies, his eyes brightening.  “It was a great game.”

One of the other fifth years reaches over and smacks Shiro heartily on the shoulder.  “Better than great.  You three deserve awards.  That had to be some kind of record, right?  How many of those goals did you score?”

This time, the pink on Shiro’s cheeks is from embarrassment.  “Everyone did their part,” he says, hands held up.  “And that wasn’t a record.  Highest ever was 380.”  But there’s a pleased, shining light in his eyes, as he’s pulled into the jostling, eager crowd of Hufflepuffs.

Lance watches, then nudges Hunk.  “It was still a cool catch.”

“It was,” Hunk agrees again, just as mildly.

A win for Hufflepuff today is a win for everyone.  That’s not a bad thing.  Hunk doesn’t want anyone feeling mad or disappointed.

But it doesn’t feel fair, either.

Somehow, it seems to be Hufflepuffs who give up fair for themselves, and let it be fair for everyone.

Hunk doesn’t have words for that feeling, and he doesn’t want to hurt Lance either.  So instead he pulls over the mashed potatoes and enjoys everyone’s excitement.

***

Pidge groans and drops the plastic watch to the ground. “It’s no use.  We’ve been trying for hours.”  She flops backward into the grass, staring up at the cloudy sky.  It’s probably going to rain soon.  Hopefully they’ll be inside before then.

Hunk plucks the watch up and wipes off the dirt. It’s a colorful kiddie toy, the kind that comes with fast food kids meals, colored bright blue with some cartoon character on the strap.  He isn’t a big fan, but his little siblings always beg for to go.  They’d gotten bored of the free toys within a week, so Hunk had been able to buy them off them for peanut butter cookies.  They were cheap and therefore no big loss if they were broken, and there were two to experiment on.

But it doesn’t matter, because nothing they’ve done makes them work on Hogwarts grounds.

“People have tried this stuff for years,” Hunk points out.  “We’ve been doing this for a few months.”

Pidge groans and grabs a handful of grass, ripping it out by the roots.  Damp clumps of dirt cling to it, sending a spray onto her shoes.  “But we’re smart,” she insists, as if everyone else who had ever tried to charm Muggle technology had been an idiot.  “And we have nothing.”

There’s hours of frustration in her words, and Hunk sympathizes.  It sucks to have put in so much effort, again and again, and to have it amount to nothing.  But he also thinks it might be harder for Pidge than it is for him.  Hunk is smart, but Pidge is a different kind of smart.  Things just click for her, while Hunk has to study and practice.  When she doesn’t get things right away, Pidge gets frustrated, then discouraged.

Hunk just gets determined.

“Maybe we should try something else,” he offers.  “These things are junk, really.  They give them away for free with kids’ meals.  It might have just broken on their own.”  In fact, Hunk is pretty sure his little sister stepped on it at some point, so there’s a lot of merit to the theory.

Pidge perks up slightly, though she continues to rip out handfuls of grass.  It piles up on her lap, probably getting mud all over her robes.  “Maybe.  Can we get more?”

“We have the other,” Hunk points out.  

“But what if it’s broken too?”

Good point.  Hunk frowns, thinking about it.  What can he get his parents to send that he doesn’t mind possibly breaking?  What he _really_ wants to have is his Gameboy, left forlornly in his bedside table because he doesn’t want to risk breaking it.  He’s absolutely sure his siblings have stolen it already and are probably in the process of ruining his save file.  It’s infuriating.  “I can owl my parents.  Or maybe Shiro has ideas.”

That only earns him a grunt.  “Not Shiro,” Pidge insists.  “Not yet.  This is our project.”

“What about Keith, then?  He can owl Shiro’s parents too.”

Pidge pauses, considering.  “Maybe.  When he gets one of those books.”  But then she groans and turns her head from side to side.  Her hair twists in the grass, tangling with the blades.  “But that’ll take forever.  Weeks, probably!”

At least one, maybe two.  They’ll have to convince Keith to help - he’d be happy to lend his wand, but actually asking for things from an adult is hard for Keith.  Then they’ll have to figure out what they want, owl the Shiroganes, and wait for a reply.  

“We can try it, but we need something to do until then.”  Pidge holds out her palm expectantly, and Hunk sets it down.  She holds it up to the sky, twisting it in her hands.  The cartoon girl with blonde pigtails and a sneer stares back.  “Maybe the problem isn’t the watch.  Maybe it’s Hogwarts.”

“Yes?”  Hunk braces his hand on the damp ground, staring at Pidge like she’d lost her damn mind.  “That’s how this works.  Hogwarts is the problem.”

Pidge sits up properly, causing a rain of ripped grass to fall off her chest.  “No, no, like… maybe it’s here.  What if we tried to charm it off Hogwarts, while it was working, and then came back with it?”

Oh!  Hunk’s eyes widen as he considers that.  His understanding of magical theory is rudimentary at best, though far better than it was when they began at Hogwarts.  But nothing he knows contradicts the idea.  “Maybe.  That way we wouldn’t have to charm it on and charm it to resist.”

“Exactly!”  Pidge beams at him, eyes crinkled gleefully in the corner.  Her earlier sulk is completely gone, replaced by the wild light of inspiration.  “We can try at Hogsmeade.”  

Hunk’s lips pull up in an answering grin.  “We can!  That’s just a couple of weeks away, too.  We can modify our spells in the meantime.”

Immediately, Pidge’s smile falls.  “Oh, right.  Two weeks.”  She eyes the watch, as if it had set the schedule and not Professor Coran.  “Or, maybe…”

“Maybe what?”  Hunk tucks his legs up to his chest and rests his chin on his knees.  “You have another idea?”

“No, same idea.  Just a faster time frame.  Because I may have heard Matt talking about something over the summer.”

Hunk’s brows wing up.  “Okay?  About what?”

Pidge offers the watch back, which Hunk takes.  “He was talking to Shiro and Allura about sneaking out to Hogsmeade between classes.  I think he was kidding, but he mentioned some secret tunnels.”

Oh.

_Oh._

Stomach twisting, Hunk curls in tighter.  “He was probably kidding, Pidge.”

“No, he was kidding about going.  Shiro and Allura sounded like they knew about it too.”  She got up on her knees, smile hopeful but wary.  Pidge knew very well that Hunk would be the holdout to this idea, and she was already working on overcoming the obstacle.

The obstacle being that Hunk _hates_ to break the rules, at least when the rules made sense.  And _don’t sneak out and get kidnapped or killed_ is a very good rule indeed.

“You think you can actually get them to tell you?” Hunk shoots back.  It was easier to point out the flaws in the plan than to say ‘no.’

Pidge shrugs. “Maybe.  Matt would be easiest.  I bet I could trick him.  He likes showing off knowledge, the Ravenclaw.”  She rolls her eyes, fond but a bit smug.  Certainly she, a much more cunning Slytherin, could never be tricked in such a way.

Did she roll her eyes the same way over Hufflepuffs?

“It’s just two weeks,” Hunk replies, a whine entering his voice.  “We can wait that long if we’re patient.”

Pidge’s entire face screws up.  She takes a handful of that grass and throws it at Hunk.  The gesture is playful, if frustrated, but Hunk still flinches back from it.  There’s grass in his hair.  Eugh.

Shaking his head, Hunk shoots her a flat look.  “Hey!  Don’t do that.”

Bottom lip jutting out, Pidge groans.  “Fine.  It’s just grass, it’s not going to hurt you.  C’mon, what are you afraid of?”

“Getting lost,” Hunk replies, voice completely flat.  “Getting kidnapped.  Getting killed.  Getting locked out.  Getting caught!  What if the Ministry of Magic can tell we’re using magic away from Hogwarts?  What if we get our wands snapped?”

Pidge rolls her eyes.  “First of all, the people at the Ministry are idiots.  My dad says so all the time.  They couldn’t find a niffer in a jewelry box.  Secondly, they can’t detect underage magic anywhere there’s a lot of magic going on.  They just put it on houses with underage wizards and witches and detect any magic.”

Mouth falling open, Hunk stares at her, aghast.  “So the only people who get caught are people who live in non-magical households?  That’s not fair!”

That makes Pidge pause.  “Oh.  That is weird.”  She considers, then waves it away.  “We can look that up later.  Thirdly, no one gets their wands snapped for sneaking out!  Half of Hogwarts would lose their wands.  Don’t be dart.”

Hunk’s not being daft, he’s being sensible. Pidge is the one being ridiculous.  He crosses his arms darkly.  “I’m not going.”

“Hunk!”  Pidge scrubs over her face and runs both hands through her hair.  The stray blades of grass finally fall free, but she doesn’t notice.  “C’mon, you know Lance and Keith will want to go.  It’s three against one.”

It’s really not - it’s one against one right now.  But Hunk knows Pidge is right.  Lance will definitely agree.  Immediately.  He’ll think it’s a lot of fun.  And Keith is easy to rile into action, especially when Lance is pushing his buttons.  Worse, he has a reason to want to get Muggle tech working too, since he spends his summers with the Shiroganes.

Even so, Hunk keeps staring her down. There’s a lot Hunk is willing to do.  He went on their stupid ghost hunt two Halloweens ago, he tried to spy on the mermaids with Pidge in first year, and they snuck up to the Astronomy tower several dozen times to get that internally lit telescope working.  But this is too far.  “No.  You can go without me.”

Pidge jabs her heels into the soft dirt with a grunt of frustration.  “Ugh!  You’re such a…”

“Such a what?”

“A Hufflepuff!”  Pidge throws her hands up in the air.  “Nothing’s going to happen.  But fine.  Be scared.  Maybe we will go without you.”

“Fine.”  Hunk holds his chin up high, even as his low lip threatens to wobble.  His stomach is doing awful flip-flops, like it’s caught inside a whirlpool.  He’s being a Hufflepuff, yeah, and he’s proud of it.  If Pidge wants to get in trouble she can do it all alone by her stupid self.

With a last huff, Pidge shoves herself to her feet.  “Fine!  Whatever.  I’m going inside.  You can just stay here.”

Hunk grits his teeth.   _“Fine!”_

Not even looking back, Pidge stomps off.

Once she’s inside, Hunk groans and presses his hands to his face.  His eyes burn, and his stomach is threatening to crawl up his throat.

They’ve fought before.  Later, Pidge will come back, and they’ll apologize and talk it out, no doubt.  He’s not too worried their friendship is ruined forever.

But acid churns inside of Hunk, till he can taste bile on every breath.  Till it feels like he’s taken a potion that makes his insides turn into frustration and fire.  

He’s right.  Hunk is doing the right thing.  It’s the smart call.  But Pidge had made it an insult to himself and his house.  They’re not like the Slytherins, they’re not like the Gryffindors.  They’re scaredy cats, rule followers, boring.

“You’re such a Slytherin,” he spits out into the empty, chilly air.  Wind picks up, whipping his bangs and the straps of his headband around. Sighing, he pushed himself to his feet and slowly trudged inside before the rain could catch him.

He’ll forgive Pidge, because she didn’t know what her words meant.

But it still hurts now.

***

Keith is sitting alone at the library table.  His head is down, brow furrowed in thought, and his fingers clutch the pages so tightly they’re starting to crinkle.

Hunk pauses, surprised.  It’s not unusual to see Keith here, but never with that expression.  Annoyance, frustration, boredom, all yes.  Not like this. Not like someone was holding a wand to the back of his neck.

So he sits down on the chair across from him, plastering on a cheery smile.  “Hey, what’s up?”

Keith’s head snaps up, in that too-fast, too-jumpy way he’s never quite shaken.  “Oh.  Hi.”  His fingers curl protectively around the edge of his book.  Back in first year, that would have been because he thought Hunk would try and take it.  Now, in Fourth Year, it means he’s trying to hide something.

Hunk sits.  Waits.  His brows go up.   But Keith only stares back, looking like he’s trying not to look guilty.  “So,” Hunk continues.  “Studying for the Potions test tomorrow?”

“No,” Keith replies automatically.  Then he pauses and winces, clearly wishing he’d taken the ready excuse.  “Uh.  I- Yes.  But no. For another test.  Yes.  Studying.”

Really, Keith is better than this.  They both are.  Hunk’s brows continue to rise, doing his best to imitate Shiro’s ‘I see you sneaking snacks, Lance, I know everything’ expression.

As always, it’s incredibly effective on Keith.  He groans and leans back in his chair, dropping his death grip on the book.  “Fine.  No.”  He flips the cover over so Hunk can see.

_History of the Triwizard Tournament._

Hunk’s brows jump up.  “Are you going to try and enter?”  Then, realizing they were in public, he cups a hand to his mouth and drops his voice to a hiss.  “Lance has been trying everything.”

“I know,” Keith replies, rolling his eyes.  He doesn’t bother to whisper.  “He’s told me. Several times.  Just today.”  He sighs, the slow, deep groan of a man who has had to dorm with Lance for four long years.  “I’m not trying to enter.”

Nodding, Hunk considers.  “Okay, so why do you have this?”

Keith’s eyes fall down to the book again.  “Because Shiro put his name in this morning.”

Oh.  Yeah.  That would do it.  

Hunk’s eyes dart to the page Keith has open.  It’s about previous first tasks.  A drawing of a Griffin flaps its wings, and lets out a silent cry.  He knows, from what rumors have said, that participants have fought terrible creatures in the past.  They’ve been killed.

There were protections.  Pidge had said so, and Mr. Holt had personally overseen them.  He wouldn’t let any harm come to participants, not when his own son might be one.

Even so, there’s a possibility.  Hunk can just picture them all watching, cheering as Shiro walks up to a beast like that one and gets attacked.  Can imagine his own dawning horror as they watch their tutor and Head Boy get gored.

Hunk shivers, goosebumps appearing all up his arms.

“Well,” he says slowly, casting for something to say.  “Shiro’s amazing.  You know how good he is.  If he’s chosen, it’s because he’s the best for the tasks.”

Lips thin, Keith nods.  He rubs a hand over his eyes, like they sting.  “I guess,” he replies, sullen and quiet in a way he hasn’t been in years.

Losing Shiro, especially to something so stupid-

Hunk doesn’t know what Keith would do.  Doesn’t know what any of them would do.

“Keith,” he sighs, heart twisting.  “There’s no sense working yourself up.  If Shiro’s picked, we’ll all band together to help him, like we talked about.  What do you really think can stop him?”

A smile curls at Keith’s lips, but it’s not very happy.  There’s a vicious, churning darkness behind his eyes, like he’s seeing something horrible  “No.  He’ll win.  But that doesn’t mean he won’t be hurt.”

The words aren’t weird, but the tone is so… final.  So sure.  A knot of sympathy forms in Hunk’s throat.  He’s been there too, when the worst case scenario feels like the only option.

“Hey,” he says again, softer this time.  He reaches out and hesitates, his hand hovering over Keith’s.  When there’s no reaction, Hunk rests it down on top.  His palm and fingers are huge and dark compared to the other boy’s.  “You don’t know that.  No one’s been picked yet.  You’re working yourself up over something that might never happen.  Let’s not worry about it until we have to.”

Taking a deep breath, Keith nods.  “Yeah.  You’re right.”  His eyes drop back down to the book and he bites his bottom lip.  “Maybe it should be Allura.”

It’s unfair, but Hunk’s stomach sinks at that, and he’s glad Shiro hasn’t heard it.

Maybe it should be Allura the Gryffindor.  Not Shiro the Hufflepuff.  It should be the brave, brash, bright Allura, and not steadfast, kind Shiro.

Hunk knows in his heart that Keith just wants to protect Shiro.  He wants to keep him from harm.  It’s not a slight to Shiro’s ability, just a sign of fear.

Even so, it hits Hunk somewhere that’s always a little cold and angry.

“Shiro is the best,” Hunk hisses. It’s no slight to Allura, who has earned every award and fought hard for everything.  She’s brilliant and amazing, and Hunk means her no harm.

But for once, for once, is it so much to ask for the Hufflepuff to shine?  Do the Gryffindors have to win everything?

For once, Hunk wants to be fair to _them._  Even if it’s not fair to Keith.

Looking up, Keith’s eyes go wide.  “I- yeah.  I know that.”  

The fight goes out of Hunk, simple as that.  He pulls his hand away, because it wasn’t like Keith reacted to the comfort.  “Yeah.  I know you know.  Sorry.  You’re right, it’ll probably be Allura.”

Hufflepuffs are the ones behind the lines.  They’re the ones that heal up after, who support, who fight from the sidelines, who cheer people on.  They put in the work - they put in so much work, because you get out what you put in.

But they’re not the names in the history books.  They’re not the heroes that get taught about in class.

Keith looks over his face, like he senses something is off but isn’t sure what to do about it.  Finally, he nods.  “Yeah,” he agrees.

“She will,” Hunk replies, sure now.  There’s no sense getting his hopes up.  Besides, shouldn’t he be hoping to spare Shiro from the pain?  Hoping to spare them both?  Maybe they should hope the Hogwarts Champion is a total jerk, so they don’t have to feel as bad when a giant steps on them.

He just hopes-

Hunk gives it up with a sigh.

“He’ll be okay,” Hunk tells Keith.  He smiles and pushes up from the table.  “You should leave that book here. It’s not worth it to stress yourself out.”

Keith looks down at it and nods.  “I probably should.”  He makes no move to do so, though.  “Hey, Hunk?  Thanks.”

Smiling back, strained but real, Hunk nods.  “You’re welcome.  Let me know if you need someone to talk to, okay?”

“Okay.”  Keith watches Hunk start to go, then stands up.  “Hey, one more thing?”

Turning, Hunk nods to him.  “Sure.”  He glances around quickly, to make sure they’re not disturbing someone, but the librarian doesn’t even peek through the shelves.

Keith hesitates, then nods to him. “Keep an eye out for Shiro, okay?  If it happens.  He’ll need someone looking out for him.  A fellow Hufflepuff.  You know how he gets.”

That Hunk does, because Shiro has fallen asleep during tutoring on more than one occasion, and crashed on the common room couch more times than Hunk can remember.  “I will,” he promises, because it’s an easy thing to do.  He doesn’t expect to ever have to follow through.  He’d be happy to, but it won’t come to that.

With a final nod, Keith smiles.  This time, it’s easier and warmer than before.  “Thanks.”

“No problem.”  

Hunk goes, his eyes on his feet and mind a million miles away.

***

Headmaster Alfor takes the final piece of paper from the Goblet of Fire.  He reads it and pauses just slightly before he calls,

“Takashi Shirogane!”

There is silence.

Then the Hufflepuff table goes _wild._

***

Hours later, the impromptu party finally dies down.  There had been half-hearted plans and supplies gathered, but most everyone in the house had assumed, like Hunk, that the champion wouldn’t be one of them.  It would be a Gryffindor, probably - Allura had been the favorite of the betting pool.  After that, a Slytherin, ambitious and cunning as they were.  They had the thirst and skills to prove themselves.  If not either, a Ravenclaw, clever and resourceful, coming up with unusual solutions to win for Hogwarts.

Never a Hufflepuff.

Yet here they are.

Hunk sits on the couch with Shiro, curled next to him to help shield him from well wishers.  As much as Shiro is a people person (a people pleaser, really), enough had been enough.  He still has lipstick on his cheeks from where several of the girls had pecked him ‘for luck’.  A couple boys had too, but there’s less visible traces from that.  While Shiro had been flattered by the attention, he had also not been comfortable with it, so Hunk had taken up guard duty.

He’d promised Keith, hadn’t he?  Seems Hunk has to hold up his end of the bargain after all.

By now, Shiro is slumped back on the couch, his head hanging back over the edge.  Most everyone has been shuffled off toward bed, because tomorrow is still a school day, but Shiro hasn’t moved.  As long as he hasn’t, Hunk won’t either.

A hand comes down and rests on top of Hunk’s heavy and warm.  Shiro offers him a sleepy smile.  “You don’t have to stay up for me.  I know you’re not really a party animal.”

Hunk goes pink, because it’s a little embarrassing for the Head Boy to know that he’s such a goody-two-shoes, even if he’s also a friend.  “I don’t mind. I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh?”  Shiro sits up straighter, his lips quirked up.  “Do you have questions, then?  Maybe about nettles in potions.”

“Shiro!” Hunk protests, cheeks even redder.  “That was years ago.”  Kind of.  Sort of.  He still knows he can ask Shiro for help.  But he’d been so overeager and curious that it’s embarrassing in hindsight.

Shiro’s smile is soft as he finally takes his hand off Hunk’s head.  “I never minded.  I don’t mind now.  What did you want to talk about?”

Well, it had kind of been an excuse, but Hunk takes a deep breath anyway.  There’s something inside him, a kind of bubbling glow, and he wants to express it.  But what words match this feeling?  That a Hufflepuff was chosen.  They get to shine.   _Shiro_ gets to shine.

So he smiles at Shiro.  “Thank you.”

Shiro pauses, then glances around, like he’s looking for the source of Hunk’s gratitude.  “For… sitting on the couch?”

“For being the best,” Hunk replies.  He knows he probably looks like a dork, as his eyes shine and his smile grows, but he doesn’t care.  It’s so nothing compared to the fact that Shiro was picked.  

Shiro is the Hogwarts Champion.

The Hogwarts Champion wears black and yellow.  He’s from the house of the not-anything, the healers, the cheerleaders.  The ones whose names don’t get remembered.

But they’ll remember Shiro’s name, and that makes Hunk so damn proud.

At first, Shiro tilts his head, amused.  But then something must have shown through, because his expression softens.  “I did,” he agrees, barely a whisper.  For a moment, some of that shiny veneer comes away, and Hunk can see astonishment in his eyes.  Awe.  Shock.

Shiro hadn’t thought he’d get picked either.

Suddenly, Hunk wishes he’d had more faith in his friend.  He wishes he’d been more like Keith, who had seen this coming.  Even that was better than dismissing the possibility.  Despite everything, Hunk had become one of the naysayers, the ones who never believed the Hufflepuffs were good enough.

“You deserve it,” Hunk replies fiercely, grabbing hold of Shiro’s sleeve.  His own passion surprises him, but he leans into it.  “And we’re going to help you, and you’re going to win.”

Slowly, Shiro’s eyes widen.

Then he smiles, and his eyes burn with a dedication and persistence that is purely, utterly Hufflepuff.

“Yeah,” he says, head held high, the stripes on his tie bold yellow and black.  “I am.”

Hunk believes him.

 


End file.
